Stolen

“Smile!” he screamed, as the camera flashed in an awful sense of intrusion against my tired eyelids. On the other side of the gate our scarlet picnic blanket, loaded with an untouched lunch was but a tiny blemish against the yellow of the field. The sun shone down on our little bodies, and made the rapeseed glitter, as though a plane containing sequins had exploded above us.

He danced about the meadow like a child, his tartan shorts and brown jumper bringing a sense of rustic contentment to the already joyful scene. We lay down alongside each other on the parched soil, eyes wide open, hot sun on cold skin, locking our hands tightly together. I leant forward, using my elbow for support, and gazed at him with a fondness I did not think I had encountered since first glimpsing Jackson, a Labrador puppy given to me by my parents on a childhood birthday.

Having been in Brittany since March - on business or suchlike -, it was a relief to see Oscar lying back in the grass, a lukewarm summer breeze pouring over his pale face. I nuzzled his cheek with my nose and watched the corners of his mouth travel up towards his ears. To watch such a smile was elating, and a sense of weightlessness momentarily occupied my body.

Giggling immaturely, I manoeuvred myself until I was on top of him, stifling a shriek as he ran his warm fingers down the length of my thighs. Oscar rolled the seam of my summer dress up towards my navel, exposing my legs further, and leaning in, tickled me with his wet tongue, privately evoking in my mind the image of a kitten lapping energetically at a bowl of milk. I seized both of his ears and ran my fingers through his coiled locks of hair, molesting the deep brown roots with the tips, massaging the scalp with my palms.

Swiftly abandoning the idea of investigating my new underwear, Oscar wrapped his arms around me in a giant bear hug and rolled me from his torso onto the grass, grinning wildly as he crawled over my body. As his full body weight rested on mine, I gasped sharply and smoothed his back with my hands, feeling his body contract tautly as my fingers came into contact with the tender lump at the base of his spine. He exhaled noisily, and I quickly removed my hands, returning to stroke his hair.

Reaching my navel, he burrowed under my dress – less hungry rodent, more tender badger – and reaching my breasts, began to kiss me, exceptionally gently; his embrace was soft enough for me to barely be able to feel his lips against mine. I responded with a tongue, carefully at first, not wanting to detract from our affectionate reunion, and explored cautiously the cave that was Oscar’s mouth, running the tip over his molars, embracing saliva. I could feel him shaking with laughter again, his lips closing in an attempt to force away a smirk. He stroked my tiny cheeks, and I felt love, nothing but love; the sweat from our bodies glued us together and we were one; hot breath, tears, ecstasy.

We laughed together, almost silently in the bright afternoon sun; less concern I had never felt, for everything at this moment seemed so still, and so beautiful. Our laughter erupted and Oscar hoisted himself onto his elbows, staring foolishly down at me, inspecting my features individually with keen olive eyes. His gaze momentarily held mine.

My stomach lurched.

I rolled over, the early signs of nausea entering my already compressed stomach. Coughing harshly, I lay face down in the meadow, the soil rubbing against my pores in the darkness.

It was the intensity of his stare that had pierced me on the train two years ago; his pale hands clasping the bottom of his seat and the speed at which his eyelids served as shutters to let in the light were astonishing. I stared back. The silence was terrifying but emotion was there. We were flying; crashing into the black hole of the tunnel at an incomprehensible speed, brakes set alight, wind rushing uncontrollably; the scream of a baby in the rear carriage.

Then calm. Forcing my eyes to open and return me to the meadow, I turned my head, letting the sun bathe my face in a pleasant light. I sat upright, running my hands down my damp cheeks. Oscar sat a foot away on the grass, hands resting solemnly on his white knees. “You think about it all the time, don’t you? …sweetheart…?” His face looked a picture of sorrow. “It’s alright, we’re…”

Touching his hand reduced him to silence. He moved in closer, and held my arm, caressing delicately the fallen strap of my dress and returning the light cotton to its place atop my shoulder.

I looked toward my left and kissed his hand. I nodded. “…I know, I know.”

Oscar moved his hand delicately over my cheek, soaking up the moisture with the sleeve of his jumper, and took to his feet, clumsily, but somehow wonderfully. Arms reached down and lifted me from the grass into an embrace, less forceful this time, sweat and wool touching cotton, tears.
“It was so long ago, sweetheart, and still you can’t look me in the eye without thinking about that stupid train?”

I put a finger to his lips, whispered that I was sorry, and stroked tentatively the scar which ran from his hairline and progressed down towards the right eyelid; an almost perfect arc. Kissing gently the dulled yellow lump at the base of his eyebrow, he showed his teeth; two white brick walls; perfect symmetry, and we bowed our heads to touch noses.

“Come on sweetheart” he sighed.

He gripped my hand in his, and we turned and walked silently back towards the fence, stopping to pick up the camera, and my embroidered belt which earlier had held my dress in place.